Entries from September 2010

How do you take notes? Mine cross the page in a whorl, as though I were hurriedly sketching a map of the arrondissements of Paris. It works for me. Elaborate spreadsheets have never been my thing. I move too fast for static data. A big notebook I can write ideas down in for a while is ideal, otherwise I scrawl unforgettables on hotel stationery I keep in a stack on my kitchen table. Earlier this week I had lunch with my friend Laura Kellner, from Kikkerland, who was kind enough to bring me notebooks from Leuchtturm 1917, a new partner. I especially love the white one, which I plan to take to Los Angeles with me for work next week (The Los Angeles Timesis flipping over DIRTY BABY, which premieres at LACMA 10/7). It matches the oversized Balenciaga tote I use for luggage, doncha know. Right now I'm off to meet novelist extraordinaire Anne Landsman at the Smile in NoHo. Ta.

Went to the launch party for Mischief and Mayhem, a new publisher, tonight. They had two go-go dancers, a guy and a girl. Frankly, if the work's as appealing as the strippers were, I'm all in.

It was marvelous to run into friends, like Rob Spillman from Tin House, and Ben Greenman, who they announced as having started a revolution when he did Correspondences, a book I publicized! Also, he wrote a great essay about strippers, which I insisted on after he told me the story on the train to Philadelphia.

I've been working so much I've hardly had time to breathe, let alone jot anything down for you here at Lux Lotus. Today was necessarily more expansive, as I needed space to work on some challenges for my current projects in my mind without any distraction and a few hours out was the order of the day. My younger sister slept over last night so even though I'd made a big production out of how I'd get up and make her coffee and we'd drink it on the balcony, all I remember was edging up my Kiki de Montparnasse sleep mask with one eyebrow when she departed around seven a.m. and doing my best impression of a sentient person saying, "Goodbye darling, have a marvelous day."

Later, I read the new New York Review of Books, went to the post office, and headed uptown to sit for a portrait by Mark Milroy, who's got such style. His wife is the writer Kelly McMasters, and she was there working and took a break to have coffee and chocolate biscuits and tell me about the film adaption of her first book. Exciting stuff, and such a lovely, convivial spirit in their new place. Surrounded by Mark's work, and a stone's throw from Columbia, it feels very Bloomsbury. Being painted is such fun, especially the part where I go a bit Dorian Gray and then I see the work; his take is slightly harsh and deeply felt, something like Alice Neel running off on a dark night to meet Les Fauves in the woods. Or rather like being painted by Picasso versus Fragonard.

After that I strolled down dreamy Claremont Avenue to meet a friend at a cafe near campus. We've seen each other four or five times since we met a couple of summers ago at a meditation retreat, and I adore his company even if I do think him quite fresh most of the time. Even so, I find his presence comforting in a way that I can't explain, maybe because we are from the same part of the country, went to similar schools, have similar backgrounds. We couldn't be more different, though. I suppose he's the only person I know who's as opinionated as I am, in exactly the same way. Me: Do you think I should go to French cooking school, or Italian school? Him: How is that even a question? Me: God, you're so right.

My favorite story about him is from when we met, in the country, I was staying in a cottage in the middle of a field about a half mile from the main hall, and I had no way to get there, so he'd drive me home at night and carefully light my propane lamps before brusquely saying, "Go to sleep before you get scared." The last night we were there, he pulled over to the side of the road and suggested we look at the stars, and after we'd talked about everything in the world that could be discussed, he softly said, "Lauren?" "Yes...?" "Do you have a 401k?" And then I got a lecture.

At a four-hour dinner with Maud: old friend, best of the best, genius writer and critic, champion heart-blesser, crack picture-taker. We have a not-so-secret fantasy country music outfit called the Sugar Sisters.